


Changing Destiny

by sarhea



Series: No Destiny [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: hermione_smut, Crossover, Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Romance, Rough Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:47:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarhea/pseuds/sarhea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione is hiding from the Wizarding World and Loki is bored enough to be intrigued by her defiance. Just as a distraction between his plotting…Until he discovers the truth of his heritage; only now he has someone to go to, someone without prejudice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For: LJ Community Hermione_smut Round 6  
> #9 Hermione is an atheist who believes gods/goddesses/myths are part of the collective unconscious. What happens when a real life Loki lands in her world attempting to wreck havoc? Loki on the other hand never knew of the magical world, never expected to reckon with a human as powerful/seductive as Hermione Granger. Kinks: crazy violent sex, power struggle between 2/3 characters  
> AN: The prompt inspired me to twist events in Thor, not the Avengers. Take it as AU for the movie. Hope you like!  
> Warning: Has sexually explicit content  
> Edited: Oct 6, 2012

“I need to sign out advanced textbooks on Quantum Physics.”

“I’m writing a critique of Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Can you tell me where I can find possible source material?”

“Where are the books on Mary Queen of Scots?”

“I have to do a presentation on grizzly bears.”

“I need to print my essay.”

“The photocopier is jammed.”

It was a typical day in a London district library: very busy with nary a moment to sit down and relax. It suited Hermione. She didn’t want time to stop and think and second-guess her decision to withdraw from the Wizarding World. It had not been an easy choice but Hermione had desperately needed a break from the adulation and unvoiced demands. It hadn’t made anyone happy Hermione was done putting everyone else ahead of her. Luckily an old friend of her mother’s was more than willing to hire her as general help; enough to sub-let a little bed-sit and pay for her day-to-day living expenses.

“Of course Mr. Odinson. The rare manuscripts are in the back. Right this way.”

Hermione stiffened hearing the uncharacteristic girlish giggle from her matronly supervisor, and peered around the corner. Mrs Batsen was fluttering, patting her greying hair as she ushered a tall lithe businessman dressed in an expensive looking grey suit into the back. All Hermione could see from this angle was the back of his head covered with slicked-back black hair. Curious she waited until Mrs Batsen emerged from the small scholars reading room.

“Who is that?” she asked idly.

Mrs Batsen blinked confused. “Oh! That’s Mr. Odinson.”

“Is he a professor?” Hermione asked. “He looks rather wealthy.”

“Oh no, I believe he’s a businessman.” And then she bustled away.

Hermione frowned. It was not policy to allow non-scholars unsupervised access to the rare texts. Few had the training and skill to handle old crumbling volumes. But perhaps Mr. Odinson was a wealthy donor, a bibliophile. Immediately she went to a terminal to do some research.

Ten minutes she stepped away confused and worried. There was no record of any Mr. Odinson, not as a financial patron or even a general library user! How could Mrs Batsen be so irresponsible? It was not like her!

Determined to get to the bottom of this she stalked towards the private reading room. Then she froze sensing something she never expected. Magic. Warily she tested the boundaries. Repelling wards. Deftly she unravelled them and pushed open the door, to step in and close it behind her.

~o~

Loki stiffened at the unexpected intruder. His wards should have kept the mortals away. He gently set the page down and peeled off the surgical gloves enchanted to block his personal magic from interacting with the grimoires. Then he looked up into a furious, but not entirely unattractive, face surrounded by a mass of brown curls restrained in a messy knot. The Aesir wondered if he was imagining the sparks in her hair.

“How dare you!” she hissed stalking around the table to stand before him.

“How dare I want?”

“You bespelled Mrs Batsen! There is no Odinson in the library database. I doubt it’s your real name!” she accused.

Loki stiffened at the insinuation. Then he stopped. This Midgard was aware of magic? Disdainfully he sniffed. “I assure you my name **is** Loki Odinson.”

“Liar!” she growled. “You’re a bigot who’s too used to getting his own way. I’m going to report you to the Aurors for Confounding a Muggle.”

He was taken aback, confused by her words before he caught himself and regained his poise. “You are interfering in matters that do not concern you,” he growled back.

“And **you** are breaking the law!” she countered.

He laughed a short derisive sound. “I am above petty mortal laws.”

She shrank back for an instant and looked at him with wide hurt brown eyes. Then she seemed to pull herself together. “You’re just like every other pureblood bigot.”

Loki knew he was being insulted and he was not in any mood to tolerate it. He reached out to grab her arm and recoiled when his magic was repelled by **something** flowing beneath her skin. It was potent yet soothing, cool and tangy like peppermint essence used in healing brews. He had never experienced anything like it before.

He tried again and failed to weave his magic against her. Reflexively he stepped out of time and away. He had come too far to be caught by pretty bait.

~o~

Hermione watched as the wizard vanished soundlessly, with no betraying pop. He had to be really powerful and skilled to have such control. She waited for a few minutes, in case he decided to return, but he didn’t. Huffing she carefully examined the volume, an ancient tome on Nordic mythos, before repacking it in its protective cover.

He was just an ass.

The thought lingered as she went about her usual duties until the end of her shift. On the way home she stopped at a grocery shop to pick up a few fresh vegetables.

~o~

Loki watched the mortal woman in a scrying mirror as she went about shopping and travelling on the filthy crowded public transit. She had to have magic, and some training and skill, to have penetrated his wards, repelled his spells, but she wasn’t using it! She looked and acted just like any other mortal. He would never have suspected her of having magic if she had not breached his protections and confronted him.

Part of him wanted to ignore the distraction, but the greater part of him that loved puzzles and secrets was not dissuaded. So instead of returning to Asgard he made plans to return to the library where she worked.

A broad grin spread across his face. Perhaps Midgard was not as useless and unmagical as he had always thought.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

 

Hermione saw the green-eyed black-haired man sweet-talking Mrs Batsen the moment she stepped through the glass doors. As soon as he saw her he appeared at her side holding out a waxed paper cup from the café around the corner. The aroma was distinctive. An Extra Spicy Chai Latte. Her favourite. She did not say anything but neither did she refuse the beverage. She ignored his obnoxious expression in favour of consuming the still hot drink.

It had become a routine. He’d show up every day before her shift, sweet-talk Mrs Batsen into giving her extended breaks and allowing her to leave early, before he hung around and generally made her life difficult. He had Harry’s colouring but he reminded her of a young Draco Malfoy – bratty and out to draw everyone’s attention. He never had to really work, to risk his life in battle. Loki Odinson was just another spoilt rich pureblood. Probably from the continent since she didn’t recognize his looks or name. Probably Norway given his name. Vaguely she wondered what kind of Nordic pureblood family chose to use the name Odinson and named a son after the Norse God of Mischief and Liars.

“What do you want?” she asked tiredly. Because it was better to hear it up front from him, than from an enamoured Mrs Batsen.

“I need some help finding alternate translations.”

“You know you’d be better off hiring a linguist, or someone skilled at translation charms, like a curse breaker.”

“Why would I do that when I have you?”

She wanted to jump on him, pull his hair out, screeching all the while like a demented banshee. His smirk practically dared her to do just that. She just managed to keep from reacting violently.

 

~ooOoo~

 

He had not planned on staying near her as long as he had, but he had been unable to resist. Hermione Granger was most definitely magical and from a magical society but she had chosen to live apart in the non-magical, the Muggle world. Loki desperately wanted to know but he was limited to what she chose to share with him in her off-hand manner. She clearly believed he was one of her kind, a magical from her society. And he could not influence her. Her mind was protected by a powerful but natural dense mental barrier, and very resistant to his magic. So he contended himself with pretending to know what she was talking about, making extrapolations to fill in the blanks. He was good at that.

Hermione made off-hand references to local militia called Aurors, goblin treasure keepers, curse breakers, apothecaries, runic arrays, but Loki had rarely seen her actively use her magic, mostly to repair serious damage to older volumes. She was never showy with her magic, using the magical equivalent of thread and needle instead of swords and hammers. She treated magic with a respect he rarely saw, only in superstitions mortals centuries ago, however she was anything but superstitious. She was skilled but mortal, weak, lesser. Loki was attracted to her but he refused to be ensnared. He had grand plans that did not include a mortal woman, no matter how magical or attractive she might be.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

 

It was difficult balancing two very different lives, to cover all bases, divert suspicion. Even with his doubles it took planning and a great deal of thought to keep everything straight. Facts one set of players knew may or may not be known by a different set. And when these two sets interacted there was a great chance of exposure. But that was what made the game so interesting!

Loki enjoyed games involving stratagems and planning. He rarely acted without having Plan B through G. No one could expect the Norns to weave events as one wished every single time. And yet that was exactly what Thor expected; that **every** time, the outcome of events would favour **him**. Loki had pulled his brother out of trouble too many times and in each and every case all of Asgard had praised Thor and ignored the facts; it was Loki’s precautions, plans, and actions that had pulled Thor out of the stew pot. Well enough was enough. Thor had definitely landed in with both feet this time. Hopefully he would be burned badly enough to instil some caution.

Then an odd distracted thought crossed Loki’s mind. How would Hermione react to Thor? The God of Mischief snorted softly. The Midgard witch called **him** a spoilt, too intelligent, bratling. He could only imagine what she’d call Thor. Probably a thick-skinned blockhead, dense enough to sink and drown in the Dead Sea.

Leaning back against his chair, Loki mused over which reserve plans he should put into play now that Thor was in exile. He was determined to take full advantage of his temporary tenure as the Crown Prince of Asgard.

 

~ooOoo~

 

Hermione rubbed her eyes, trying to get the grit out. She was tired and drained yet oddly energized. Loki Odinson was an arsehole but he was a genius. He had an odd perspective on history and magic, very skewed from what Hermione had been taught, and yet… it was more **real** and conceivable. It felt **right** in a way wand magic had never felt. There was a reason why Hermione had never excelled in DADA, why she was better in courses where she could take her time to think and focus before casting. Using a wand felt unnatural. She should not need a bit of wood to channel magic and cast spells.

Loki Odinson did not use a wand. He was cutting, rude, brilliant, powerful, skilled, insightful. If he had attended Hogwarts he would almost certainly be a Slytherin. Or a Ravenclaw.

She leaned back in her chair and tried to put together what she knew.

He kept insisting he was a god. Hermione refused to believe that. Gods were simply very powerful ancient wizards and witches – or manifestations of the collective unconscious.

He said he was immortal. So was Nicholas Flamel and his wife Perenelle, thanks to the Philosophers Stone. Maybe Loki had a similar equivalent.

He said he was omniscient. That troubled her. He did know a lot, far too much to be an ordinary wizard. But if he had a Philosopher’s Stone, he probably lived a long life, had lots of time to learn and accumulate knowledge and skills, like the Mind Arts.

Vaguely she wondered why he even bothered researching in a Muggle library. A magical library, like the Restricted Section at Hogwarts, would have more relevant sources for him. He seemed very focus on researching ancient Nordic Rune arrays. A very obscure field since no one knew how to speak the Old Tongue, and words had power.

Runes. The word set off a spark, she had seen, or heard, something somewhere, but where? She powered on her outdated second-hand laptop and opened a browser window. Google was her best friend.

It took twenty minutes to find the relevant article. There were many odd stories coming out of America, crop circles burnt into the desert sands of New Mexico, circles etched with ancient Nordic runes and pictoglyphs from some unknown ancient language. She saved a few of the image close-ups taken by some by-standers cell phone camera. It was blurry but it showed enough detail for her to research.

They reminded her of the runes Loki was researching.

Hermione considered the possibility of Loki’s involvement before dismissing it. It was happening on the other side of the planet. There was no way Loki was involved in the mess. Even if he was she had no way of determining that. He’d been hanging around the library, and making a general nuisance, almost every day. But then he had stopped showing up with no message to explain his absence or farewells.

A small part of Hermione was hurt. She tried to ignore it. She did not need his company. She did not need his presence, his sarcastic wit, his biting insight.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Citrusy towards the end

Loki was enraged. No, he was coldly furious. He had spent centuries seeking Odin’s approval, striving to prove himself as good if not better than Thor. And now it was revealed to be an impossible endeavour? Because he was not Odin’s son?!? That he was Jotun, a hated frost giant, one Asgard’s sworn enemies?!

He closed his eyes and struggled to control himself. He just barely managed to hang onto his desire to destroy everything within range. The hot rage cooled and tempered to glacial ice. He could already predict what would happen once all of Asgard found out (because secrets were impossible to keep unless the other keeper was dead). Loki would be hated and feared, not just scorned as he was before.

Nostrils flared as his control slipped. If they were going to fear and hate him he’d give them plenty of reason to!

_Don’t be an arsehole. People are people, silly prejudiced narrow-minded bigots. It’s how you react that determines how things turn out._

It was odd, how her words, her cool-logic calmed him, even when she wasn’t present.

A cold dark part of him insisted otherwise. **_She’s just like them. Once she knows she will fear and hate you also._**

A calmer saner part whispered, _No she won’t_.

**_She will when she finds out._ **

_Go and ask her then. She can’t deceive the God of Lies._

Loki did not want anyone to know of this trip to Midgard. Fortunately Heimdall was still limited when it came to tracking **him** in other Realms.

 

~ooOoo~

 

Hermione was not too happy. She had only agreed to this dinner date to make Harry happy.

“So Hermione, how’re you doing?”

Oliver was so hearty, so buff, so blinkered…It made her want to barf. She did not want to tell him she worked at a Muggle library.

“Pretty good,” she murmured in a non-committal manner.

The former Gryffindor Quidditch Captain gave her a look. “I really don’t understand why you have to live in Muggle London.”

“It was easier. After Ron.”

“Ah.” Oliver looked very uncomfortable and it sated her vindictive desires.

The excuse had the benefit of being true. When she withdrew from wizarding society it had been easier living in neighbourhoods where she was not likely to run into anyone who knew of the Ronald Weasley fiasco. But now Hermione had to admit she liked it. She liked living in the real world and dealing with ordinary problems, not Dark Lords intent on conquering and enslaving the populace. She didn’t want to go back into a society where everyone would be either tip-toeing around her, or setting her up with interviews or dates to get her settled down like a ‘proper’ witch.

“Good eve Hermione,” a familiar velvety voice spoke in oddly dark undertones.

Hermione started and turned around in her chair. “Loki. Mr. Odinson,” she corrected herself. “What are you doing here?” It was the first time she’d seen him in three weeks.

“I just wrapping up a business meeting when I saw you,” he murmured. His dark green eyes had settled on Oliver. He did not even look in her direction. Instead he continued to stare down her dinner date.

“Stop it,” she said impatiently. “Oliver, meet Loki Odinson, someone I met at work. Loki, this is Oliver Wood, an old schoolmate.”

“Ah, from Hogwarts,” he murmured in dulcet tones.

Oliver jumped. “Yeah.” Then more suspiciously, “I don’t recognize you.”

Loki smiled thinly. “I did not attend Hogwarts.”

“Really? Then which school? Beaubaton? Durmstrang?”

Loki did not answer. In fact it was Oliver who began fidgeting and shifting uncomfortably after a fifteen seconds. Before Hermione could scold Loki for his rude behaviour, Oliver blurted his apologies, made excuses about another meeting and fled.

Hermione glared at the now complacent and calmer-looking male.

“You did that deliberately,” she said flatly.

“Of course.”

“May I ask why?” she inquired acidly.

Loki sniffed. “He is a mewling spineless weakling. Unworthy of you.”

Hermione was both pleased and appalled. By the compliment and the ruthless character assessment. “Not everyone is strong,” she said finally.

“True. But you are a strong female. You deserve a strong male,” he countered.

She stared at him confused and torn. “Loki, what’s this about?”

He reached out to grip her wrist and tug her out of her chair. “Come. I have something to show you.”

She was wary but still curious. And she was pretty certain he wasn’t a deranged lunatic out to murder her, so she allowed him to guide her out of the restaurant, towards an alley entrance.

He did not Apparate like she did, like wizards did. He stepped into shadows and out of them in a very lavishly furnished and expensive-looking Muggle flat. Gingerly she settled herself on a leather couch, choosing the low-ground, to appear submissive and obedient. She could sense he was riding a sharp edge and could fall either way.

“Ok Loki, what’s all this about?”

He paced about in front of her. It made her nervous to see him so explosive. He was usually so controlled, almost languid, like a cat. Then he stopped before her and glared down. She refused to recoil from him and met bright green eyes calmly.

“You say you do not fear your Dark Creatures. Werewolves, giants, vampires?”

Hermione frowned slowly. “I’m cautious, but no, I don’t fear every single one.”

He arched a brow. “And why not? Monsters can kill you so easily. Mortal beings are fragile, even experienced witches.”

She smiled gently. “There are no real monsters. Only monstrous actions and the choices made to act such thoughts out.”

He looked so very sceptical. “And giants? They are brutish barbarians!”

Hermione glowered darkly at him. “A half-giant is my friend,” she told him flatly. “I even got along with Hagrid’s full giant brother. Though he is not a very intelligent conversationalist,” she admitted. “He called me Hermy and had difficulty understanding the word ‘No’,” she concluded ruefully. “But he was very nice. Very protective.”

“And where is this nice protective giant?” he asked half-scornfully.

“He died protecting the students in my old school. An insane, megalomaniac, Dark Lord had attacked it trying to get to my best friend.”

Loki went still studying her with frenzied eyes. He looked torn, mentally debating something, what she was not certain. Then he held his arms out to the sides and **shifted**. It was odd seeing a pattern of deep blue complex markings spread over pale skin that turned cool blue. His eyes were bright blood red and she saw the potential for insanity, the madness, the abyss. He had not fallen into it, but he was close. Deliberately she rose from her seat and moved to stand before him. She reached up and touched his cheek. His skin was rough. The lines were raised ridges not tattoos, an intricate pattern of lines and swirls that seemed to burn icy cold under her touch.

“Are you a Metamorphmagus?”

He looked confused. “What?”

“A Metamorphmagus,” she repeated exasperated. “A friend of mine was one, and so is her son. Teddy’s not very good at controlling his colours though. His hair tends to change into whatever he sees. Andromeda has to make him wear a hat when she takes Teddy out to Muggle parks.”

He looked wary. “No.” Then after a long pause he spoke very quickly, “ImaJotun.”

It took some time to parse the relevant word from the rushed sentence. “Jotun. A Norse frost giant?” she asked with a curious intrigued look.

“Yes.”

She made a humming sound. “I thought they were myths. No wizard has ever seen them though there are plenty of other giants. All the history books say they are just stories created by superstitious Muggles.”

“Jotuns retreated from Midgard centuries ago. And Asgard has guarded the bifrost to keep invaders out,” he told her with deliberate carelessness. But she could see he was observing her every reaction.

Then something dawned on her. “You’re not a wizard,” she said flatly.

“I am a sorcerer but yes, I am no mortal wizard.”

She looked curious not terrified. “You are a Jotun? Then what about the other races from Norse mythos? The Aesir, the Vanir?”

“All real, but we have always lived in different realms, other branches of Yggdrasil.”

She absorbed the information. Then she went very pale. “You said your name is Loki Odinson.”

He inclined his head gravely. “It is.”

Blindly she shook her head and pulled away. “It can’t be. The myths are only archtypes! Representations of the collective unconscious.”

He looked irked and faintly insulted. “I assure you I am not a hallucination. I **am** Loki, God of Mischief and Lies. And I am older than any presently existing civilization.”

She looked at him, her disbelief patent. “I don’t believe you’re a Norse God. You can’t be!”

“And why not?” He asked harshly. “Is it because I am Jotun?”

“No!” Her denial was immediate and true. “Because a God would never bother with getting to know me!” Her breath caught on a sob. “I’m just Hermione Granger. A know-it-all Mudblood who aspires higher than she should,” she added mockingly.

He growled before he leaned forward to wrap his hands around her upper arms. He shook her hard twice and leaned close to her face, red eyes flashing dangerously. “Do **not** speak so low about yourself!”

She tore herself from his grip. “Don’t **you** give me orders!”

He lost his temper. “I am a God! You Will Obey Me!”

She did not cringe and cower submissively. Instead she leaned forward and screamed in his face, “You aren’t my God!”

He crushed his mouth over hers. For an instant she softened under his kiss. Then she stiffened and pulled away.

“No!”

Blood red eyes caught her gaze and refused to let go. “You will not deny me Hermione Granger, daughter of Daniel.”

Her lips pressed together. “I won’t submit tamely,” she hissed.

She hissed when the temperature in the room dropped sharply. Frost began to form on the metal, the glass, on the leather. Hermione could see her breath in soft white puffs.

“Stop it!” she said uneasily. She could feel his power surging, brushing against her, over her, weakening her, forcing her knees to buckle. For a moment she was overwhelmed under the pressure. Then she figured out how to make it slide over her and off. She locked her joints and glared at him. “Stop!” she ordered in a more commanding voice.

Her own power reinforced her order, forcing him to take two steps back. He looked shocked. Hermione was pleased. How many could say they could stand up to a God? Then she looked into red eyes and her body turned liquid.

They were hot, so hot her body warmed in reaction. She almost felt like she was ready to burst into flames. Her nipples hardened and hurt, the sensitive tips rubbing against the silk lining. The cool slick material did nothing to hide the nubs pressing against dove-grey jersey knit dress. She really should have chosen something looser.

Warm wetness bloomed between her thighs and her belly clenched and knotted, twisted tighter and tighter, her cunt clenched and relaxed and ached. She blushed hotly. She had never had such a strong physical reaction to any of her past lovers - Ron Weasley and two Muggles who were friends-with-benefits. Her blush deepened at a sudden mortifying thought. She was so wet she was certain she was leaking fluids. Had they stained her dress? Merlin, could he smell her?

Hermione stared at the God and saw him inhale deeply, his nostrils flare wide. Narrow blue lips spread into a wide leering grin that revealed sharp pointed teeth. It should have scared her, made her panicky. She only became wetter.

~o~

He could smell her desire, her fear and arousal, a potent blend of lust inducing chemicals, stronger than any alcohol or aphrodisiac. She was looking at **him** and her desire was only deepening. He could almost taste it. She knew he was a God and Jotun and despite her reserve she still wanted him.

But how much did she want him? Was she strong enough to handle his screaming feral instincts, his very primal desires? Would she stand her ground or would she breakdown? Only one way to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely explicit in the next chapter


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexually explicit

Hermione gasped and fell to her knees on the prickly ground.

One moment she had been in a rather chilly penthouse, being aura-dominated by a rather head strong selfish God. The next she was out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere in very unsuitable clothes. It looked like a higher latitude evergreen forest from the pine needle strewn scrubby ground. Luckily she did have her wand with her.

Quickly she transfigured her heels into more suitable footwear and cast warming charms. She caught herself just before she transfigured her clothing. She didn’t want to wear anything restrictive. She liked the feel of her mid-calf long skirt against her legs, the slick silk rubbing against her skin. There was another reason but she couldn’t quite focus on it.

Then she felt his power surging somewhere behind her. Blindly she focused on getting away, a familiar forest, and Apparated.

She was in New Forest, where she and Harry had camped during their run from Voldemort. Where Ron had deserted them, where they had lost and grieved, where they had found their strength to keep going on. But this time she didn’t have her beaded bag or supplies. Still she did not want to Apparate back to civilization. She began running on instinct.

The moon was waxing, almost full, the stars bright. She cast a spell that gave her owl eyesight. Now she could easily see debris, holes, stones, and other things that would trip the unwary. As she ran part of her went over her situation, her actions and the why. It was not like her, to act on instinct. She was a creature of the mind who preferred to research and plan her options and weigh the pros and cons before making her choice. But now… this was **right**. Common sense screamed she was crazy but her atrophied gut reactions said she made the right choice.

She was attracted to him. Had been even when she believed he was a pureblood bigot. She had been drawn to him before, and even after seeing and knowing his true nature, that he could crush her like an ant, she was even more attracted to him. The moisture soaking her panties, leaking from her in a steady trickle proved that.

_Am I a deviant? To be attracted to one who has the power to kill me on a whim?_

Power. Her belly clenched and knotted at the ghost memory, the sharp tingly feel of his power sliding over her skin. She wondered if he could focus and shape it in specific ways. How would it feel over her nether lips, her clit, inside her cunt? An insubstantial dildo… She stopped and gasped as the knot in her core twisted hard and fresh fluid gushed from her, coating her inner thighs.

“What are you thinking of that has aroused you so?”

His voice was everywhere around. She could not pinpoint his power either. Randomly she chose a direction and ran.

~o~

He smiled pleased. She was still running. She had not broken down and collapsed. She was still fighting even though she had to know she would not win. _Good_ , a dark voice whispered from the depths of his mind.

His senses expanded exponentially. He could hear every footfall, the debris being crushed underfoot, the short inhaled breaths, the whisper of rustling cloth, her pulse pounding. He could smell her arousal, her desire, her need, her pleasure, her satisfaction, her joy. She was running but she was not afraid. She was defiant but not fearful. He would have lost her if she had chosen to flee into crowded civilization, but she chose not to. This chase would only end in the most pleasurable of ways. For the both of them.

~o~

Hermione knew Loki was toying with her. He could have easily cut her off **ages** ago. But he hadn’t. He was chasing her down like prey, his prize. She was torn between feminist affront and feminine pleasure. She decided to focus on the latter.

Her legs were getting sore, strides were shorter, lungs straining. She could not keep up this pace for long. She did want to be in good enough condition to enjoy whatever he had planned for **after**.

There was a sharp pressure on her spine right between her shoulder blades. It made her trip and fall forward. She barely managed to keep from falling flat on her face. She was on her hands and knees, on the grass covered ground, and she was acutely aware of her vulnerable state. Much later she would have to admit she did it deliberately, lingered on her hands and knees, shifting her hips minutely to entice him.

It was like he read her mind. A broad hard hand was pressing down on her spine, between her shoulder blades, forcing her to bend her elbows and lower her face towards the prickly grass. It transfigured under her hands into a thick quilted silk coverlet, a dark green almost black under the moonlight. She did not fight too strongly as the other hand pulled her skirt up until the material was bunched around her waist. But when his hand shifted to wrap his fingers around the back of her neck and hold her down she tried to raise her head.

“Let me go!” she snarled.

He chuckled darkly and shifted the hand so his forearm was braced over one shoulder. She caught a glimpse of texture dark blue skin, a strong hand just before it slid under her chin to cup her vulnerable throat, forcing her head to tilt up. It was uncomfortable but she could only make inarticulate angry noises, nothing coherent. When he slipped a finger into her mouth her first response was to bite down hard. Blood flooded her mouth, blood with a sharp peppermint tang. It tasted… nice. Horrified at her actions she jerked away.

His response was to rip her very expensive panties. The recoiling elastic stung and left welts. Deep within her belly a tense coil twisted, fresh heat and moisture bloomed between her legs, and she moaned. He chuckled darkly from behind her, above her.

“You like this. You will like and accept everything I give to you.”

There was a brief tension filled pause as he shifted behind her. And then she felt it; hard, silken, faintly ridged with a broader bulbous tip. And then he was pushing into her, working the thick shaft into her inch by inch, forcing her body to open and give way under the alien intrusion. And he was an alien in every sense of the word.

Every inch of him was rubbing against her, setting off small sparks, small shocks deep inside, as the cool textured shaft penetrated the tight clinging channel. Her body was softening, growing wetter around him. Now it was easier for him. Her embarrassing wetness, the squishing sounds as he pushed and pulled out of her in a rhythm that did not give her any time to adjust and compensate for. And honestly she didn’t want to think or plan. She just wanted to feel and react. So she did.

It didn’t take long to come apart under him, around him, her body clenching tight enough to wring his own climax. Then they lay spooned against each other, his arms wrapped around her torso, one hand cupping her belly, the other gliding over her swollen still hard clit. His cock was still inside her, stretching her… Not painfully; he was soft enough for their fluids to escape and smear their groins and thighs.

Hermione exhaled softly and placed her own hand over the one resting over her waist. His reaction was to lace her fingers with his and brush a cool kiss against the nape of her neck. Her hair was thankfully still restrained in its coronet updo. She turned her head, to meet his eyes over her shoulder, and she did not flinch from the carefully neutral calculating look.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she announced finally.

“You should be,” he said callously. “If I want to kill you nothing can stop me.”

To his shock she smiled. “But you don’t want to kill me,” she pointed out smugly, leaning up to brush kisses against his jawline and chin. She didn’t have enough leverage or height to reach his mouth. Her eyes grew dilated. “You want me wet and begging.”

He made an inarticulate sound and jerked back. She winced as he roughly pulled free from her. But it was only long enough to push her onto her back and to come down on her, cradled between her thighs. Then he was pushing into her sore sensitized flesh, that lovely textured cock, inch by inch. She bit her lip to stifle her whimpers, struggled to minimize her motions. But it was too much!

She sank her teeth into the closest available flesh, the flat pectoral muscle above her face, and clenched her jaws. She needed, oh she needed! Dimly she heard him snarling above her. And then he gave her exactly what she needed.

Hard. Fast. High. Deep.

Strong hands pinning her down, forcing her body to bend and twist. Her mother was right, insisting she continue practicing yoga even after she started attending Hogwarts.

Slender callused fingers, stroking, pinching, and twisting her clit, her nipples, exactly so. She had never realized she had a kink for pain.

The pressure of his power, the slight burn as it slipped over and just under her skin, the maddening sensations as it glided against her most sensitized flesh. She wanted it inside her, forcing her apart from within.

She lost count of the number of times she came under his touch and around his cock.

She was sopping wet and leaking her fluids and his, but she was no longer embarrassed by the wet squishing noises.

“Look at me!”

Dazedly she opened her eyes and struggled to focus on the breathtaking blood red eyes set in the blue-skinned face that looked **right**. Her legs were spread open, knees over his shoulders, almost folding her in half. He was so strong, his lithe frame with a swimmers lean build and wide shoulders. His entire body was covered with the textured ridges that reminded Hermione of glyphs. They were glowing silver and green. When she glanced down between them she could see the hard blue shaft being enveloped by her wet pink flesh. It made her hotter.

“Who do you belong to?”

She did not have to even think. “You.”

“Will you bind yourself to me and only me?”

That took a few seconds thought but her answer was unhesitatingly “Yes.”

His expression shifted. Triumph, pleasure, possessiveness; it pleased her. No one had ever sought out and chased Hermione, not in a romantic sense. But this God, this oddly fractured God of Lies and Mischief, he wanted her, ordinary Muggleborn plain-Jane Hermione Granger.

He lowered his head to her left shoulder, just above the collarbone, and bit down hard.

And then she was coming and the world turned into fireworks.


	4. Chapter 4

When she came to she was acutely conscious of the heavy weight pressed against her groin, the still wet shaft pressed against the crease of her thigh. She opened her eyes and blinked surprised. At some point in time he had shifted into his more human appearance: pale skin, black hair, green eyes. She frowned and touched her skin.

“Why?”

It was his turn to look confused. “Why what?”

“Why did you shift? Isn’t this unnatural for you? I don’t want to make you feel you must shift to make me comfortable.” She said a babbling rush.

He looked very taken aback and then pleased. “I spent eons in this shape. I believed I was Aesir, that Odin and Frigg were my parents,” his lips turned down at the corners. “This is easier to hold than the other.”

“Then when you shift to Jotun form, it’s because your control is disrupted?”

“In a sense. A foreign energy interferes. Or I consciously think it. Or loose control,” he admitted with some after thought.

She touched his cheek filled with admiration and it showed. “You must have great control. To have lived so long and never shifted to Jotun form in all that time.”

“I began my lessons in sorcery when I was a very young child,” he admitted. “I showed great aptitude and mother, Frigg, insisted. Sorcery in Asgard is considered a woman’s art.”

Hermione made a scoffing sound. “Ha! Magic is magic. If you have talent and ability it would be criminal to not hone it! Besides you would have caused more trouble with uncontrolled accidental magic.”

“That was Frigg’s reasoning.”

She gave him a look. “You should call her Mother. She probably still loves you. Mothers do, even the adoptive ones. Sometimes more so.”

He looked ready to argue when he caught himself and changed the subject. “You said you would bind yourself to me and only me.”

“Yes. But not now.”

His expression turned thunderous before he regained control. “Then when?”

She shifted closer and rested her cheek against his shoulder. “Tell me Loki, once I bind myself to you, what will happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would you expect me to live with you? Leave the magical world? To stand back and watch while you fight the establishment and cause chaos?”

From the minute stiffness she knew he got the point. “I am a God Hermione. I have too many opponents to stay on Midgard without stronghold, allies, fighters, and defences. And your mortal governments will not play nice and let me do as I will. I do not wish to go back to Asgard and most of the other realms are strongholds of my own enemies or in treaty with Asgard. Midgard is the only one without a united government, one where I have opportunity to create my own stronghold and alliances.”

She lifted her head enough to meet his defensive look with a gentle understanding one. “I know. And I would support you in most of your endeavours. I know humanity tends to be its own worst enemy, that powerful examples are needed to lead the rest. I want you to be one of them.”  She pressed her finger over his lips to still his protest. “As much as you say otherwise I know you are a good person, change can be hard and cruel but so is growing up. I want you to think about that in any future plans you make.”

He gave her a sharp nod. “Very well. And your vows?”

“I want you to give me time - a year at least - to try to change things in the Magical enclaves. And if not, time to wrap up my affairs and say my goodbyes.”

He gave her a sardonic look. “You know, they will never change.”

“I know. But I have to try. Else I will always wonder and second-guess myself.”

He sat up and crossed his legs before drawing her onto his lap. “I cannot change your mind.”

“Not unless you want me to always fret and throw this in your face when we fight.”

He thought hard and gave a sharp nod.

“When you fail you will bind yourself to me.”

“Yes.”

“And if I plan to conquer the world?” he asked studying her with bright intense green eyes.

“I will stand by you. I will give you my honest opinion and advice. I will push you towards more peaceful options that benefit the most, not a few elite.”

“And if I go maddened?”

Pale brown eyes did not look away. “I will walk into the abyss to guide you out. If you are broken I will stand by you, I will listen when you are ready to speak and help you heal. If you are enraged I will stand before you to stop you, trusting you will honour your vows to me.”

“You will forever stand by me? Even when Ragnarok is upon us?”

“If I am alive yes.”

“And for your eternal loyalty, what do you wish?”

“You must listen with an open mind. You must not dismiss my advice and ideas without good reason. And explain them to me. I will freely swear a vow to never reveal to anyone what you confide to me. Do not sabotage my efforts and plans or arrange for others to do so.”

He made a soft indistinct sound. “Very well Hermione Granger, daughter of Daniel. I grant you three full turnings of Midgard seasons to settle your affairs. During this time period I expect you to remain chaste, sexually untouched by other males or females. I will not initiate any contact with you unless you choose to interact with players in my primary spheres of interest. At the end of the three years you will freely bind yourself to me. In return I will grant you the position of Record Keeper; I will not sabotage or arrange for my opponents or allies to sabotage your efforts; I will respect you and try to explain some of my choices and actions, not all are easily comprehendible. Is this agreeable?”

“Yes.”

“Then I so swear.” He pressed his lips against her forehead, an unexpectedly chaste kiss.

She felt the burn in the middle of her forehead. She reached up to touch the general area. “What was that?”

“A sigil, a visible mark of our contract. Do not worry, it is only visible to you and me. It shows as green, when it starts fading or turns white it is being broken on my end.”

She started. “Do you want a similar mark?” she asked hesitantly. “To show in case I’m breaking my end of the deal?”

He smiled faintly and shook his head. “You are far more honourable than myself. Besides I can easily scry you without making contact.”

“Oh.”

He studied her intently. “Do you want the contract to start immediately?”

She was suddenly very conscious of his hardening cock under her bum. “Oh no.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. “I think I’ll need lots of memories to get through the coming years.”

He growled and lifted her hips high enough to allow his cock to spring free. Reflexively her legs moved to wrap around his waist.

“Then why don’t we make such memories.”

He impaled her upon the thick now marble smooth shaft. She inhaled sharply. Thank Merlin she was still wet from before. She groaned as he pressed her hips down until he hit the end of her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and panted softly. She felt so full, so tight. Reflexively she clenched her lower muscles around him.

He growled and leaned forward sharply enough to make her tumble flat on her back, with him still inside her, her thighs clamped about his waist. The action forced him just a little bit more inside her, driving all sensible thought out of her head.

Oh yes, this was exactly what she needed.

 

~ooOoo~

 

Hermione woke slowly, shifting even slower in reaction to the ache between her thighs, the sticky soreness in her groin. Her body felt empty, yearning, clenching on itself, seeking a hard thickness that was no longer there. She was sore and hurting in other places, her knees, and shins, the heels of her hands, her forearms and elbows, her mouth, her arms where he had gripped her wrists and forced them behind her back. But underneath it all her body was soft and replete, sated and warm. Her magic sang beneath her skin almost in anticipation of a future round. She frowned when she remembered it would be long in coming.

They would be parted for months if not years. He had sworn an oath to her, to give her time to try to change the world in a peaceful non-violent way. In that time he would not contact her and taint her reputation. She needed them to trust her, to co-operate with her. Consorting with the Norse God of Mischief and Lies, one who had wrecked so much havoc, it would not generate any trust.

She brushed back tears furious at her weakness, her yearning for **him**. The darker part of her whispered it would not be long before they were rejoined. The Wizarding World was too resistant to change, ingrained in their own ways. They would not listen to a **Mudblood** witch. But Hermione knew she had to try otherwise she’d always wonder ‘what if’ and it would taint her relationship with Loki. She only hoped he did not get bored and embroiled in mad epic schemes. Or if, no when he did, he’d survive and escape in one piece. Oh yes, he would survive and escape to return to her. The thought calmed Hermione’s racing mind.

She settled back against the pillows making mental notes of things to do. First she needed to talk to Severus. He had plenty of experience fighting the allure of the Dark. Then something crossed her mind. Was the Dark truly bad? The old Hermione would have answered instantly ‘yes’, but the new Hermione had seen and done too much to answer so promptly. Loki made her feel good. He was Dark and Right, not Bad, though many would feel otherwise. She wondered if this was why the Purebloods were so resistant to giving up their ways and Traditions. If it made them feel like this she could completely understand and sympathise. A thoughtful look crossed her face. She really needed to talk to Severus, to get a different perspective. If what she suspected was right she really needed to develop a different strategy to leverage for the change she wanted.

She tossed her head back and laughed out loud, revitalized and raring to go, eager to reconnect with the Wizarding World. Yes, perhaps the backdoor approach would succeed where the frontal assault had always failed.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

 

His first-tier plans were falling apart. He had gambled and lost. Thor had returned and the All-Father had awakened from Odinsleep. Loki was surprised he was not more enraged and crazed by the failure. It probably was because he had almost expected and planned for it.

Loki knew he could talk circles around Thor, to persuade his adoptive brother to defend him before Odin, to be let go with a minor slap on the hand. But he didn’t even try. He wanted to be free, to be with Hermione, not trapped in a golden cage surrounded by judgmental beings. So he smiled up at Thor and let go.

He was going to Midgard, to Hermione. He promised to wait for her answer and he could do that in her Realm.

 

**~ooOoo~ooOoo~ooOoo~**

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: That’s it! Have an idea for Part 2 outlined using a different prompt. It will definitely be AU Avengers. There you’ll find out exactly what Hermione has in mind.


End file.
